


Come get me if your heart is a bad thing

by lalejandra



Category: Bandom, Empires, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fighting, Gangbang, Kink Bingo 2012, Multi, Obedience, Panty Kink, Phone Sex, Pictures, Sexual Fantasy, Transformative Works Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 19:43:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16047263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalejandra/pseuds/lalejandra





	1. Come get me if your heart is a bad thing

"You have to fucking write something!" shouts Mike. Tom wants to go back out the door of the bus and down the stairs, but Butcher is right behind her, and Siska is right behind him, so escape is not an option.

"We're going to fucking _tour_!" William yells back. "Pete wants us with his baby band. We're practically going to fucking headline; I'm not done _touring_."

"Shit," says Butcher under his breath and even Sisky looks a little queasy.

"Maybe let's go get lunch?" Tom suggests. Bill and Mike are in the bunks, haven't seen any of them yet, they can still get away.

"What if we leave, and they kill each other?" Sisky says. He sighs and slumps back against Butcher. "Dead Mike pieces everywhere."

"Don't underestimate Mike's potential for violently murdering Bill and then making him eat his own feet," says Butcher gravely. He wraps an arm around Sisky's shoulders. Tom watches them curiously, wishes for a camera, all of Butcher's ink next to all of Sisky's pale, unmarked skin.

The yelling continues, and it's the same fight they'd been having before. Tom isn't looking forward to writing the next album at all, but if what Bill says is true, after this summer, they'll just keep touring. Tom would be okay with that -- for all the ways touring sucks, there are three more ways it's the most amazing thing in the world. Tom never wants to go home, wants to stay on the road forever.

She slides over to where her backpack is tucked under the table and grabs her camera out of it, trains it on Butcher and Sisky. Their heads are bent together, and they're talking in low tones, something that isn't meant for her to hear. They're good about ignoring the camera, good about letting her just creep around and photograph them, don't get self-conscious and angry like Mike or flirtatious and sex-pot-y like Bill.

Tom misses film cameras but doesn't miss how any shot that wasn't composed so fucking carefully was a waste; digital, she can take six million pictures. Altering them in photoshop isn't as satisfying as making prints, but it's cheaper, and she can do it on the road with just her camera and a laptop.

Bill comes flying out of the bunks, pushes through Butcher and Sisky, and slams out the door. Tom watches him go through the small, dirty window, snaps a shot quickly just to get it, have it. Maybe it will be good, maybe not.

When Mike comes out, Tom's still got the camera in her face. It is so clear through the viewfinder that Mike is still fucking furious, that she wants William to get started on the next album _now_ , not fuck around on tour and play the same songs every night, that she wants him to have stayed to argue with her instead of running away. Every time he walks out on an argument, Tom knows, it's ten times worse for the rest of them. Tom isn't sure why -- because Mike loses Bill's attention? Because Bill isn't taking music as seriously as Mike does? (Or . . . seriously in the same way, Tom thinks, because Mike's fooling herself if she thinks Bill isn't fucking serious about this shit.)

"That fucking camera!" yells Mike. "Jesus christ, Tom, fuck, get it out of my face!"

Tom tells herself as she lowers the camera to let the yelling slide -- Mike is so pissed she's almost crying, and Tom has seen Mike "deal" with her anger. She punches douchebags and screams and throws shit. She doesn't cry.

She's not fast enough, though, and Mike snarls at her. "You wanna fucking photograph me?" she demands and then her shirt is off. She's not wearing a bra, as usual, and she has tiny little bruises between her breasts where Tom had been biting her last night. A bigger bruise on her side, by her ribs, also from Tom, but older, yellowing already. Tom sucks in a breath.

So do Butcher and Sisky.

"Fucking take my picture then!" Mike yells and pushes off her skirt, steps out of it and kicks it at Tom.

"We're leaving," says Butcher firmly and hauls Sisky out of there.

Tom is too stupid to leave, too stupid to pass on this. She lifts the camera.

"Fine, I fucking will," she snaps and _does_. Her framing is sloppy because she's not taking her time, just pushing the button and so grateful to have a mostly-empty SD card in the camera. Mike is tanned dark, the bruises even darker spots on her skin, and the way she's standing, thighs spread, arms folded, she looks like an Amazon or one of the Furies.

A siren.

"You getting my panties in that shot?" sneers Mike, thrusting out her hips and tossing her hair.

"I could if you stand still," Tom shoots back, and -- Mike does, freezes in place as Tom sinks to her knees. She focuses in on Mike's crotch, moves a little off to get the top of Mike's thigh where Tom left a bite mark to match the ones Mike keeps giving her.

("I like the bruises," Tom had said softly one night when there was enough darkness around them that she hadn't felt vulnerable, and now Mike doesn't let them fade, sucks new ones on top to keep them sore and soft.)

Tom gets the way Mike's hips are cocked and the way her ass curves under the pale green cotton of her panties. She gets the arch of Mike's back, her spine, the breadth of her shoulders, the muscles of her biceps. She gets the darkness of Mike's tan on the outsides of her arms and the paleness of her armpit, the brief hint of underarm hair. Mike's pale, less tan skin is practically darker than Tom's tan -- Mike would never let her, but Tom would love photographing them together, all skin and sweat.

She gets Mike's little potbelly, the way her pubic hair curls up and out of her bikini panties, the way her toes dig into her plastic flip-flops like they're trying to hide. The look of defiance on Mike's face.

"I don't want you to," starts Tom, but then she stops because Mike won't thank her for saying, _I don't want to make you uncomfortable_ , or _I don't want you to do something you don't really want to do_. She loses her chance, anyway, when Mike tosses her hair again.

"Who cares what you want?" she says, and that's when Tom starts to feel weird. Afraid.

"You do," she says, even though she's not entirely sure that's true right now. "You care a lot about what I want."

"You see that through your camera, Tommy?"

Tom gets a picture of the line of Mike's neck, head tossed back, chin up. The way her nipples are hard, her tiny breasts barely even a handful -- barely even a mouthful, and Mike doesn't seem to get off on having her boobs played with, but she also lets Tom mouth at her nipples and bite at her skin without complaint. Tom frames the curve of a breast and the sharp jutting of a nipple against Mike's folded arm, takes the shot. Then she turns the camera off -- she's so tempted to set it to auto, let it take pictures every, whatever, ten seconds, from now until they're done, but she doesn't think Mike's ready for that. Doesn't even think Mike's ready for _this_ , actually, because Mike is right -- Tom _does_ see through her camera, so much better than she sees with her eyes.

"I care about what you want," she says and steps closer to Mike. Closer. She hopes no one's looking through the bus window when she presses their bodies together, Mike's skin hot even through Tom's white t-shirt. "Mike, I --" She stops herself because there's no good place to take this. _I know you're upset_ will have Mike snarling some more at her; _What can I do?_ puts her in the middle of Mike and William -- a place she finds herself far too often anyway; _I'm sorry this sucks_ is fucking patronizing bullshit even though she _is_ sorry this sucks.

"Done with your photographs? Done with me now?" demands Mike. Her hands on her hips now, the force of her glare practically tangible.

"God, are you kidding? Never," Tom blurts out and kisses Mike. "I --" She stops for another kiss, relaxes when she feels Mike's arms slide around her, a hand going under her shirt, sliding through the sweat on her back. She pulls her mouth away to catch her breath and gasps, "I want you all the time," and it is _so_ embarrassingly true. She wishes she hadn't said it, wishes she hadn't shown that part of herself to Mike, especially with Mike in this mood. Fuck.

"Liar," mumbles Mike into her mouth, but before Tom can say anything, Mike's pulling her shirt off, fumbling with her bra, getting her hands on Tom's breasts, biting at her neck.

"Fuck, no." Tom lets her head drop back to give Mike better access to her collarbone, her nipples, anywhere Mike wants to put her mouth. "God, Mike."

"How about this?" Mike says and pushes Tom away, pushes her onto the unsteady table. Tom catches herself with her hands behind her, not sure where this is going -- until she watches Mike pick up the camera. "Let me look at you through this thing, see _you_ , huh?"

There's still an edge of anger in Mike's voice, and it scares Tom a little, just because she knows Mike is capable of saying _anything_ , of taking all Tom's soft places -- the ones Mike has been seeking out for weeks -- and using them against her.

"Look at me without it, and see me," Tom challenges; Mike just snorts and lifts the camera.

"Be beautiful for me," Mike says meanly, and Tom feels her heart starting to crack open. Just a little, but it's already too much. She could meet and match this anger of Mike's, get pissed off herself, yell and scream and throw shit. Tom is _capable_ of that. She just doesn't want to do it -- she wants to calm Mike down, not goad her into another fight.

Tom leans on one elbow and runs a hand over a breast, rubs her thumb over a nipple. She keeps her eyes on _Mike_ , not on the camera Mike's looking down at. She thinks about Mike kissing her fingertips, how yesterday Mike had sat on the floor next to Tom's legs and leaned her head against one of Tom's knees. She thinks about sleeping with Mike, in the same bed in that hotel, the a/c set to arctic so they could curl up together under a pile of blankets. The way Mike had looked in her strap-on, the way she'd said, "You want my cock in you, Tommy?" How she'd fucked hard into Tom, moving her across the bed every time their hips slammed together. How sensitive Mike is after she comes -- Tom can't even breathe on her after, but she can kiss Mike's knees, her feet, suck on the insides of her thighs where her skin is soft and thin.

She thinks about this and stares at Mike, at the angry line between her eyes, at the way her hair falls into her face, growing out of her old greaser haircut. The hickey at her jaw that she isn't bothering to cover, like maybe she wouldn't be embarrassed if people knew Tom was the one bruising her throat.

"What do you see?" she asks, surprised at how deep and hoarse her own voice is. She's wet already, so fuck it -- she lies down on the table and unbuttons her jeans, shoves them off, shoves off her panties, gets a hand between her legs. She comes in seconds, as soon as she gets her fingers around her clit and sucks in a breath, and then she gets her feet up on the table, keeps her knees bent and her legs spread.

Fingers inside, stretching, getting wet. Tom rubs her asshole, gets it wet; it doesn't do much for her, but she knows what it must _look like_ , all shiny under the dim bus lights.

"What do you see, Mike?" she says. Her head is half-off the table, so she can't see Mike anymore, and she's got all the sound turned off on her camera, so she can't tell if Mike is still photographing her. If she could get a better angle for her fingers, get them inside her properly, she could come again, right now, keep going, keep coming while Mike watches her through the camera. "Is this what you wanted?"

"No," Mike says, and Tom swallows hard. But Mike . . . Tom looks up, wet fingers out, and Mike looks shaken. "This isn't what I want."

"Well, figure it the fuck out," Tom snaps. "What the fuck. Jesus, Carden."

She moves to slide off the table -- she wants to grab her shirt and jeans and get the fuck out of there. Mike stops her, steps in front of her, between her legs.

"You haven't called me Carden in a long time," Mike says. She wraps a hand around each of Tom's ankles.

"You haven't been this much of a dick lately," Tom says. She's crunched up, knees almost to her shoulders, and she can't get a breath. If they weren't fighting, this would be almost hot, gasping for air while Mike fucks her.

"I . . ." Mike closes her eyes and presses her forehead to Tom's, her nose to Tom's nose. Her breath is all coffee and cigarettes, and her skin is clammy.

"Mike," says Tom, and she moves just a little to kiss her. Soft, light, barely there. Mike kisses back the same way, hardly moving her mouth. She lets go of one of Tom's ankles, and Tom lowers her leg, takes a slightly deeper breath, wraps her leg around Mike's waist. Mike's naked skin always feels so amazing on Tom's naked skin. Tom could touch her forever.

Tom feels Mike's fingers slip into her. They go right in. Tom is so fucking wet, is always so embarrassingly wet, but Mike seems to love it -- has _said_ she loves it. She fucks Tom with what's gotta be at least three fingers, maybe even four, Tom can't tell, but she feels _full_ , and that's what matters. Mike has the magic fucking touch, always drags her fingers over the right spot inside, hard, even pressure, and the heel of her palm rubs Tom's clit, moves the hood around, gives Tom just the right kind of friction.

"Fu-u-uck, M -- oh, Mike," stutters Tom into Mike's mouth, and she comes, without even thinking about it, without holding her breath or trying for it, just comes on Mike's fingers.

"Come for me again, Tommy," says Mike, and Tom gets even _fuller_ , somehow. She can't move her hips, not really, can't move her body or she'll fall, she's so precarious, even with Mike helping to hold her up. She can only sit there and let Mike fuck her, let Mike push her into another orgasm, let Mike breathe into her mouth and call her Tommy and watch her face.

"Am I -- am I --" Tom chokes out. "Am -- Mike --"

"What, Tommy? You're -- fuck." Mike fucks her harder, twisting her wrist somehow, so there's more pressure, and every time she twists her wrist, her thumb slides over Tom's clit.

"Am I -- good? For you?" gasps Tom. She can't hold the words back, can't do anything but say what's on her mind and hold Mike to her with that leg around Mike's waist.

"Oh, yeah, Tommy -- you're -- you're a good -- good girl --" Mike says, panting. "Good --"

Tom cuts her off with a wail as she comes again. "Mike, I can't," she cries, "please, please," and Mike starts to slide her fingers out. "No, no," Tom says, "more, oh my god, Mike, more."

"Greedy," Mike says, but she's smiling, and her eyes are soft, and Tom feel so much better when Mike's fingers go back inside her.

"Please, I'm there, I just need --"

"I know what you need, Tommy," Mike says. "I can see you." She kisses Tom softly, bends, uses the hand on her ankle to push her back, then uses it to open her up, lick her clit, suck on it, god, oh god, it can't be comfortable for Mike to bend like that, but Tom doesn't care, just wants Mike's hot, wet mouth on her all the time, making her come screaming, making the world fade out around them.

*

When Bill comes back to the bus, Tom and Mike are in the back lounge. Mike's head is in Tom's lap, and Tom is stroking her hair. It's dirty and sweaty, so Tom is letting what nails she has scrape over Mike's scalp. She's got her camera next to her, and every few minutes, she takes a photograph of Mike's face or the way her feet are pressed together, the way her skirt rides up to show her red satin panties.

Tom has the green ones -- soaked from Mike and where Tom had licked her through them -- tucked inside her bag.

"What the fuck," says William flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. He's blocking the tv, so Tom hits pause on the DVD. "What is this?"

"Bill," Tom says and smoothes a finger over one of Mike's eyebrows.

"God, shut up," Mike says at the same time. "I'm done fighting with you today."

"I'm done fighting with _you_ ," Bill says, tilting his chin up.

Tom shuts her eyes and refuses to look at either of them. "If you're both done fighting, let's watch _Mythbusters_ and get stoned?" Tom suggests, hoping against hope that Bill will let it go, just this _one time_ \--

Bill heaves a huge sigh and flops down on the other couch. "Fine," he says. "But I'm not rolling."

"Oh my god," groans Mike. "We have a _pipe_ , Bilvy. Don't waste the good weed on a joint."

Tom photographs the way Mike heaves herself out of Tom's lap, the way her fingers are deft at packing the pipe. She gets Mike smoking, lips pursed; she gets the moment Mike hands the pipe to Bill, their fingers complete opposites, and the smoke Mike exhales.

When she moves the camera to Bill, he's ready, fluttering his eyelashes as he takes a hit, his eyes never leaving the viewfinder.

Tom turns the camera back to Mike, and when she looks up from the viewscreen, Mike's eyes are on her, not the camera. Tom blushes, feels her face get hotter when she trades Mike the camera for the pipe. But she doesn't look away when Mike frames her as she smokes, keeps her eyes on Mike's the whole time.

  



	2. Satin Fuchsia Panties

Mike has been putting Tom in her panties for the last few weeks. Always dirty ones that already smell like Mike. A fresh pair every day; today Tom woke up to Mike's pair from yesterday on the pillow next to her. She tugged them on, but made sure to sniff them first. Whatever, Mike smells good.

It worries Tom a little, though, because it's been a while since Mike did this. Last time Tom wore Mike's panties every day it was because Mike was afraid they were breaking up but hadn't wanted to ask. Tom wonders if Mike thinks they're breaking up again, or if Mike is _planning_ to break up with her. Last time, though, Mike had stopped telling her what to do except for the panties.

This time, Mike is still telling Tom what to do. When she can pee, how to touch Mike during the day when they're not in bed, which jeans to wear, when she can come. Last night Mike had said, "I want to see how long you can hold your breath, Tommy," had breathed pot smoke into her mouth and held her by the neck. Not hard enough to hurt -- not even hard enough to leave a bruise. Definitely not hard enough to keep Tom from breathing if she'd needed to, but she hadn't _wanted_ to. She'd held her breath until her lungs were burning and her vision was swimming; she'd held her breath until Mike smiled at her and whispered, "Such a good girl." When she finally let her breath out, her chest had been so tight, her fingers had been tingling, but she had just kept staring at Mike's smile.

Today's panties are satiny and fuchsia. Tom had spent many hours fantasizing about Mike buying panties, picking out exactly the right color, making sure they're soft enough -- and then one day they'd gone shopping together. Mike went to the bargain bin, grabbed as many pairs of panties as she could hold in one hand, and dropped them into the shopping cart. So disappointing. Tom had said, "Hey, do you mind if I..." and waved her hand over the cart, and Mike had shrugged, and Tom had gone through the pile, tossing back panties that were the wrong sizes -- this explained why some of Mike's panties fit and some had been cut at the leg holes and dug into her belly. She also tossed back the ones that weren't satiny. If Mike really didn't care, then she wouldn't care _and_ she'd wear the panties Tom liked.

She does wear panties Tom likes now. Always.

Which means Tom is wearing panties Tom likes, too. Lucky.

"Hey," she says, sliding into a chair. Mike is staring into her cup of coffee so hard, she doesn't even notice Tom is naked except for the panties.

"Hey," Mike finally answers. She doesn't look up.

" _Hey_ ," Tom says. She taps a finger on the table to get Mike's attention. Mike takes the finger and kisses it over the band-aid wrapped around it -- Tom had ripped a callus yesterday, worrying it with her teeth during one of Mike and Bill's screaming fights.

Mike finally looks at her. "You like doing what I tell you, right, Tommy?"

Tom nods. They don't really talk about this, like, ever, except once for Mike to tell Tom flatly that if she ever wanted Mike to stop, she should say, "Red," and that would be it. But now they're apparently going to talk about it. "I do," she confirms. "Haven't tapped out yet."

"But I never tell you what to do about, like, photography."

"Right." Tom gets more and more worried as Mike threads their fingers together and squeezes.

"What if I..." Mike trails off and chews on her bottom lip.

"Can you push back a little?" requests Tom. She stands.

"Huh?"

"From the table. Push back." 

Mike does, and Tom climbs onto her lap, straddles her so they're face to face, bare legs touching, Mike's dirty fuchsia panties on Tom touching the clean mint green panties Mike is wearing.

"We always do better like this," Tom says quietly. "Touching. Come on. Tell me. I've been freaking out trying to figure out what's going on."

"I think you need to quit the band," Mike blurts.

"I --" Tom takes a long breath in through her nose. She'd been thinking the same thing, except she wasn't going to say anything because she didn't want to fight with Mike about it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Before Bill kicks you out. Or, I don't know. Worse."

"Because I don't like when he fights with people."

"And because you don't give enough of a shit about the music we're making to fight for what you want. You think I didn't hear you changing the chord progressions the other day? But you didn't even bring them to the table."

"I knew Bill wouldn't like them. Too rock and roll." And Bill doesn't like anything he can't be convinced he wrote himself.

"Exactly. Tommy. Quit TAI. Find a rock and roll band. Find..."

"Someone else?" guesses Tom.

Mike shrugs uncomfortably and looks away, down at Tom's boobs. Except Tom knows she's not really looking, she's off in her own head somewhere.

Tom gently takes Mike's head in her hands and tilts her head up so they're looking at each other again. "If I quit TAI, I'm not quitting you too, okay? Would that be okay?"

"Tommy, I don't want --"

"Red," says Tom. "Red red red red red. Don't fucking tell me to break up with you and think I'm going to do it just because I think it's hot when you tell me how long to hold my breath."

"That's not a joke word and I'm not trying to --" Mike cuts herself off and takes a deep breath. "This isn't about doing what I say because you're a good girl; you need to be free to go find your own music and yourself and... I don't know."

"Don't be an idiot. I know who I am. I know what I want. No, TAI isn't the music I'd be making if I had my own band, but that doesn't mean I don't know who I want fucking me every night. That doesn't mean I don't know whose dirty underwear I want to be wearing."

"Tommy," groans Mike.

"So -- whatever," says Tom. She presses a kiss to Mike's mouth. "I love you."

Mike goes still under her. "Oh."

"Did you think this was something else? What did you think we were doing?"

"I don't know."

"It's been a year and a half." Tom doesn't mean to sound pissed off, but what the fuck is Mike even thinking right now?

"I know, but I didn't... I wasn't thinking about it. On purpose." Mike has that blank-and-angry stare going, the one she gets when she feels vulnerable and upset about it, and that makes Tom feel a lot better, actually. Mike wouldn't look like that if she didn't love Tom, too.

Tom leans in and kisses her again, repeats, "I love you. You don't have to say it back."

"You're a dumbass," grouches Mike. "Of course I love you. It's been a year and a half. What did you think we were doing?"

Tom grins at her, settles in more comfortably on her lap as Mike's hands stroke down to her ass, fingers dipping under the panties.

"I fucking love you in my panties," Mike says on a sigh. "We might have to keep doing this."

"Clean ones, maybe?" Tom leans in and sucks a mark onto Mike's neck, a tiny little one that maybe no one will notice when they hit the warehouse in the afternoon.

"If you're a good girl."

"I'm always a good girl," teases Tom, nipping at Mike's neck so Mike will slap her a little, and Mike obliges just like Tom knew she would.

  



	3. Satin Orange Panties

Mike doesn't talk about shit, not unless Tom corners her and demands it. Which is something Tom tries to save for the really important stuff (like, "Are we fucking dating or are we just fucking?") because she's worried it might stop working if she uses it too often. She's getting pretty good at figuring stuff out about Mike through trial and error. Talking about "the band" as an entity is okay; talking about Bill specifically isn't. Talking about parents is okay; talking about moms isn't. Talking about sex while having it is okay; talking about sex at any other time makes Mike clam up, that weird, sullen look on her face.

Tom still hasn't quite figured out the sullen look. Embarrassment, maybe? Mike's got such a dirty mouth, can get Tom off with one finger between her legs and a steady stream of nasty, fantastic, delicious words about Tom being a good slut and _hers_ and how good she smells and tastes, how hot it is to see Tom in Mike's clothes. But one mention of that when they're not about to fuck -- or when they're not in the middle of, like, Mike spending days at a time telling Tom what to do and refusing to let Tom come -- and Mike shuts down.

And Mike seems to be okay with the trial-and-error parts of their sex life. The thing is, though, that Tom _would_ tell her what she likes and doesn't like. Tom would have told her straight up that the _threat_ of someone walking in on them is hot, but someone _actually_ walking in on them is humiliation unto death. That could have saved an entire week of Tom blushing every time she ran into Brendon (and Brendon blushing and flailing around and knocking shit over every time he saw Tom).

Of course, if Mike had just said, "I take my strap-on really seriously," Tom would never have gotten to see the look of shocked delight on her face when Tom sinks to her knees, hungry to suck on it.

Tom would have sworn Mike's face couldn't even move like that, contort into an expression so clearly, unrelievedly happy.

"So this is okay?" asks Tom.

Mike's fucked her a few times, but they don't usually have _time_ for Mike to strap it on and then clean her toys properly, don't usually have space for her to spread Tom out. And the one time Mike had fucked her with the strap-on on the bus, they'd had to contort into a bunk, Mike jabbing into her from behind so sharp, so fast, so hard that Tom had squirted everywhere, and they'd had to make an emergency laundry run _and_ figure out how to dry out the mattress.

"You want to suck my cock?" asks Mike hoarsely.

"Yeah." Tom looks up at her. The cheap hotel carpet is scratchy on her knees, and Mike's hand is too tight in her hair. Everything is perfect. Especially the dick in her face making her wet just by existing. When Mike nods, Tom opens her mouth and sucks it in and it's _so good_. So good. It's the kind of cock she loves the most, firm and bruising where it hits the back of her throat and it won't ever get soft or accidentally come in her mouth when she's not ready and it's _Mike's_ , which makes it amazing. She doesn't even care about the bitter taste of latex from the condom and how it squeaks against her teeth.

Tom drools around Mike's cock, because it's really fucking wide, pushing her jaw open just a little too far. She's gonna be sore tomorrow, she'll really feel it, have a hard time swallowing. She gets a hand between Mike's legs, and when she feels how wet Mike is, her own body gets even wetter. She can feel herself starting to open. Her cunt wants to get fucked by this cock; sucking on it, her cunt is saying, is a terrible tease when it could be fucking me.

Mike moans softly. "Tommy, fuck," she whispers.

Tom pulls off to take a breath, pants, rubbing her fingers from Mike's wet slit up to her big, gorgeous clit, spreading wetness all over. If Mike were lying down, Tom could do this better, give her a real blowjob, suck on her cock and then lick her clit, get her tongue inside Mike's slit, then back up to her cock.

"I love your cock," Tom tells her, looking up at her again. Mike's face still has that same soft, sweet look on it; Tom wonders if she even realizes. If she realized, she probably wouldn't let Tom see. "You should fuck my face and come all over me."

Mike bites her lip and uses her hands in Tom's hair to guide her mouth back onto Mike's cock. Tom's mouth is as wide as she can open it, and she holds two fingers flat out so that when Mike fucks her mouth, her fingers rub Mike's clit and slit, slide around in how wet Mike is. When Mike shoves all the way down her throat -- just for a moment, just long enough for Tom to gag and choke, for her eyes to tear and wet to start to drip out of the bright orange panties she's wearing and down her thighs -- Tom can smell her.

Tom moans around Mike's cock and sucks hard on the head, licks at it, gets her other hand around it to steady herself and to start jacking Mike off, trying to keep the same rhythm she's using to fuck into Tom's mouth. Tom pulls all the way off. "Come for me, come on," she says, her grip tight around Mike's cock, her fingers sliding over Mike's clit and slit, careful to never go inside.

"You are so fucking hot." Mike slides a hand over her cheek, thumb on her mouth. "I want to come all over your face, Tommy."

"You can. Anything."

"I can?"

Tom nods. "Spread your legs a little more," she requests, and Mike does it, looking skeptical. Tom readjusts the straps a little so the cock sits just a little bit higher, and then carefully slides between them and rubs her face against Mike's cunt, getting herself wet, taking deep breaths of Mike's scent. She's still got one hand on Mike's cock, holding onto it, stroking when she remembers to. She lets her tongue out, lets it slide over Mike's clit, her slit, inside just a little and then back to her clit. As she strokes Mike's cock, she sucks on Mike's clit. She can't stop herself from moaning -- just a little. It's just so fucking hot. Mike is moaning above her, knees locked, legs shaking, and when she comes, it _is_ on Tom's face.

Mike gasps above her, "Stop stop stop," and Tom pulls away. Mike gets so sensitive after, can't be touched at all; Tom lets go of her cock, too. She slides out from between Mike's legs, back to kneeling at Mike's feet and looking up. She licks her lips, darts forward to kiss Mike's cock.

"Good girl," Mike says on a sigh. She runs her fingers over Tom's face, lets Tom suck the wet off them. "Oh, you're so good, aren't you."

Tom sucks hard on her fingers, nodding.

"You're so good, I might even let you come tonight," says Mike. The soft look is gone from her face, replaced with the calculating, hot-eyed stare Tom loves so much. "Maybe. You're so wet from sucking my cock, aren't you? So cock hungry. Maybe you'll need to show me how hungry you are for cock by sucking it again before I let you come."

Tom sucks even harder on Mike's fingers and nods again, and when Mike pulls her fingers away, Tom says breathessly, "Yes, please."

  



	4. Satin Green Panties

"I miss you," says Mike softly. "This sucks."

"I miss you too," Tom says, just as softly. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't st --"

"I'm not saying I want you to come home. I'm just saying I miss you."

"Mike."

"It's better that you're not here. For both of us." Mike sighs into the phone. "I just wish it wasn't. Did you jerk off today?"

"In the morning, just like you said. Everyone was still in their bunks. I was quiet."

"Did anyone hear you?"

"I don't think so. I didn't make any noise. Not even a squeak."

"Not even a breath?"

"You didn't tell me not to breathe."

"Tomorrow morning, don't breathe. If you can get off while you're holding your breath, you can come. If not, no coming all day."

"I can do that. I'll do it."

"I know. You're a good girl, aren't you."

"Your good girl," says Tom. "There's a difference."

"There is," says Mike approvingly, and Tom beams up at the bunk above her. "What did you think about this morning while you jerked off?"

Tom is listening so so carefully, but she can't hear any rustling on the other end of the line. It doesn't sound like Mike is jerking off, or even moving around in bed.

"I thought about you," says Tom, and sighs. "I thought about you touching me, how much I miss your hands. I thought about how it feels when you hold my throat."

"And you press into it."

"I love it. You hold me down so good."

"What else did you think about?"

"I put my fingers inside and missed your cock. Your fingers. Your tongue. Remember when you put your whole hand inside me? I thought about that, about being so full."

"I remember." Mike's voice is hoarse, husky. _Now_ Tom hears rustling. Just a little bit. Maybe Mike is shifting in bed, or lifting her hips to get her fingers inside her panties. Tom shuts her eyes and pictures it. Maybe she's wearing the dark green ones. They're Tom's number one favorite. "You get so wet."

"You still used lube."

Mike's voice is barely there when she says, "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"I know. You take such good care of me. Make me all slick, get me so wide open." And it's not like Tom hasn't noticed that the dildos Mike fucks her with have been getting progressively longer and wider. "Maybe one day you'll stuff me up."

"Stuff you up," murmurs Mike. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, get me all... get me all wet, stretch me out, put a cock in my cunt and then one in my ass and then one in my mouth. Plug me up in every hole, yeah?" Tom is so wet. She presses her legs together and feels her cunt lips squishing, feels her pajama pants getting so damp. But Mike hasn't said she can touch herself, so she keeps one hand under her head and the other on the phone.

"You want me in your ass, Tommy? I could do that. Start with small plugs." Mike's breathing harder now. "Get bigger and bigger until you could take my biggest cock. You wanna do that?"

"Yeah," says Tom hoarsely. She's trying to keep her voice low so that no one will be able to hear her over the laughter in the back lounge and the noise of the bus engine. "I wanna do that for you, Mike."

"You've got such a tiny little ass. You think you could take my dick in it?"

"If you tell me to." Tom presses her legs together and can't hold back a moan. She hopes no one else is in the bunks yet, because, fuck, she'll never hear the end of it if they can hear her.

"Are you touching yourself? Naughty."

"I'm not, Mike, I swear. You didn't say I could, I'm not."

"God, Tommy, you're such a good girl. You're so good for me."

"I am, I promise, Mike. I'm good for you," swears Tom.

"Can you hear me touching myself while you talk? I'm so wet just listening to you," Mike tells her. "My clit is all hard. If you were here, I'd let you suck on it just how you like. Always want something in your mouth, don't you, Tommy?"

"I do, please. Let me suck on you, Mike, let me suck on your clit, on your fingers."

"On my cock."

"On your cock, please," begs Tom. "I'll lick you so good, I promise."

"I know you will. I kn --" Mike chokes off on a groan, and pants into the phone. "You make me come so hard."

"I like that," whispers Tom. "I love making you come."

"When you come home, I'm gonna ride your face, Tommy." Mike sighs. "I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"I -- um." Mike lets out a breath right into the phone's microphone and sends a burst of static through. "Tom."

"Mike."

" _Tom_." Now Mike's a little annoyed, and -- oh. Oh, Tom knows why. 

"I love you," Tom says easily. It's hard for Mike, but better when Tom says it first. She hadn't been holding back on purpose, just... had been thinking about how want burns in her belly and aches in her cunt. How empty she is. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Mike finally says, and Tom smiles a little, shuts her eyes.

"You wanna wash your hands and play guitar for me?"

"Are you going to fall asleep like last time?"

"Maybe. You gonna sing me to sleep?"

"Would you like that?"

"I would. Please?"

"Did you touch yourself while I got off?"

"No, I swear."

"Okay. Let me get my guitar."

Tom takes a deep breath through her nose and lets it out slowly, tries to relax even though she's soaking wet. When Mike comes back to the phone, she turns on speaker and everything goes tinny in Tom's ear.

"Hey, Mike?" she says.

"Yeah, Tommy?" Mike replies absently. She's tuning her acoustic. Tom can hear the strumming with only a little static.

"Love you."

"Love you, too. This is new, okay? You've never heard it before."

Tom keeps her eyes shut and listens.

  



	5. Satin Sky Blue Panties

Sean in her cunt and Max in her mouth and Mike in her ass and Tom can't catch her breath. Every moment lasts forever; every moment is over too soon. Tom is seeing things in strobe, dizzy and dazed, and, oh, fuck, god, it feels so good. She's plugged up everywhere, and she only gets to breathe when Mike lets her, when Mike tells Max to let her. Sean is under her, his teeth deep in her skin, the only thing grounding her right now. The bruise is going to be huge, impressive, spread out across her chest.

The pain rockets around inside her, bumping into the pleasure like her body is a pinball machine.

When Tom had gotten home, Sean and Mike had been in the middle of the living room. They'd been kissing, Sean moaning and stroking Mike's favorite cock, the big purple one. Tom's first thought had been, _Weird, Mike doesn't fuck dudes._ Then: _She does love when people are cockhungry, though._ Mike also loves people who treat her dicks like they're attached to her biologically instead of by straps. 

Until today, Tom hasn't really thought about her bandmates sexually; she and Mike are monogamous, except for a couple of dirty phone sex tour fantasies, and Tom's been off men for a while, since before she and Mike hooked up, like how she goes through phases where she doesn't want ice cream or pizza or tacos or whatever. Well, and Max is her best friend's younger brother and she's known him since he was fourteen or something crazy like that, and now he's got this huge dick somehow, and it's in her mouth, and he's choking her on it.

He'd been tentative when they started, but Mike cured him of that really fast. Tom's pretty sure after today Max is going to have a giant crush on how Mike orders people around and never even considers they might not do what she says. If she wants Max to pull Tom's hair and choke her on his cock until she's crying, that is damn well what Max is going to do.

Tom knows so well that breathless feeling Max probably had in his chest when he realized all he had to do was exactly what Mike said.

Sean's dick is thick and short and doesn't quite get deep enough inside her, but she's so _stretched_ around him, especially with Mike's cock in her ass, that she can't really mind. And when Mike gets fingers down around Tom's clit, massages around it exactly how Tom likes, Tom _whines_ around Max's cock.

"Come for me, Tommy," orders Mike, and Tom does, convulsing on cock, coming twice more in rapid succession because Mike is _evil_ and keeps working her clit while saying the dirtiest shit in her ear, panting that Empires should change their name to the Cockhungry Sluts, the Gangbang Queens, everyone should know how Tom begs for it, how Sean looks so pretty on his knees sucking dick, how Max is so good at doing what he's told. And Mike never loses her fucking rhythm, even when the rest of them do. She never loses her rhythm and she makes Max come first.

"Hold it in your mouth, Tommy," she says, pinching one of Tom's nipples. "Hold it all in your mouth, don't lose any," and Max _groans_ , so loud and sweet. Mike is nice enough to wipe up the bit that drips down Tom's chin and carefully put it back in her mouth.

Tom looks down at Sean under her; she knows what Mike is going for.

"Stop biting her," Mike orders, tugging on Sean's hair, and the pain from the biting is nothing compared to the pain when Sean lets go, like the nipple clamps -- no, like the time Mike had clipped a clothespin to Tom's clit and waited a half-hour to unclip it, made Tom come with it on first, fuck fuck fuck, everything is red and Tom's going to choke on her mouthful of Max's come.

"Go ahead," Mike mutters in her ear. "Let me see you feed it to him. He wants it, look at his face."

And it's true, Sean's face is red and sweaty and his pupils are _huge_ , and Tom has this moment of wondering, _Do I look like this?_ , and then Sean is nodding, begging, "Please, Mike, please," and Mike is pushing Tom's face toward Sean's. She opens her mouth and lets Max's come drip onto Sean's face -- his cheeks and his open mouth and the curl of his tongue, and then they're kissing. It's the first time Tom has kissed someone not-Mike in two years, and it's weirdly not hot at all except for how it's so hot because it's what Mike wants her to do.

Tom pulls back to lick the come off Sean's face and his hips stutter. Next to them, she hears Max groaning, so much deeper than she'd expected, and behind her, Mike sinks her teeth into Tom's neck and slowly pulls out of her ass. Slowly slowly slowly and then Tom is _so empty_. Sean's cock in her cunt isn't enough to fill her up now.

Tom hears the weird rubbery noises of the condom as Mike rolls it off, and then Mike's cock is pressed against her hip while Mike holds her. Tom lets herself slump back against Mike, tilts her head a little so Mike can kiss her neck over the bite mark, suck on it to pull the hot bruise to the surface. Mike pulls on her nipples and says, "Come, Sean. Now," and when Sean does it, shoots hot and wet into Tom, Mike murmurs, "Good boy, good cockslut," still twisting Tom's nipples. "What a good boy you have, Tommy."

Tom doesn't answer, just lets more of her weight slump onto Mike and closes her eyes. She could come again, she thinks, she just needs... something.

"Come on," Mike says, and lifts a little, so Tom pulls herself up again, kneeling over Sean, and bends to kiss him again.

"Wow," says Sean, dazed. His pupils are still too wide, like he's in shock. Sex shock. _Sub shock,_ Tom thinks, and smiles at him while Mike tugs her off his dick. Tom's still wearing a pair of crumpled, stretched-out sky blue satin panties, the panties Mike had put her in this morning.

"Max," says Mike, snapping her fingers. "Come here and clean Tommy up. Make her come again. Mouth only, no fingers, no teeth, no cheating."

When Mike had ordered Max to choke Tom, he'd hesitated, said, "Is that okay?" and waited for Tom to nod before he'd shoved into her mouth, waited for Mike to show him how to pull her hair right, so fucking polite. This time, he doesn't ask Tom's permission, just drops to his knees and buries his face between her legs, pushing the stretched-out leg of the panties to the side with his cheek.

"Oh, your hands behind your back, you are adorable," murmurs Mike, stroking his hair with one hand. She holds up one of Tom's thighs with the other. Tom's other leg is stretched out and shaking while Tom gasps, Tom's own arms flung behind her, around Mike's neck. Max's mouth is so wet and soft; it feels so gentle on her, even as he swipes his tongue inside her to eat Sean's come out of her.

A hand on her leg pulls her off the edge of orgasm; Sean is looking up at her from his knees, rubbing her calf. No -- he's looking up at Mike. "May I?" he asks politely, and Tom doesn't get what he wants at all, but Mike must, because Tom feels her nod. And then -- oh.

Then Sean's tongue is twisting with Max's, over and over Tom's clit, and she comes, shaking and keening, when someone sucks hard on her clit while someone else sucks on one of her labia.

Later that night, Sean and Max are curled up together on the futon in the living room and Mike is the big spoon. She pulls Tom's leg over her hip, though, to keep her open for the two of Mike's fingers inside Tom's cunt. 

"Why?" Tom asks, yawning around the word.

Mike yawns too, and then says, "Late anniversary present."

"I don't get it."

"On the phone -- a while ago. You said. A cock in your cunt, and one in your ass, and one in your mouth. When I asked you what you'd been fantasizing about, that's what you said."

Tom frowns. She remembers that vaguely. She'd been on tour with Jonny and his boys right after leaving TAI, and Mike had been writing, every word, every chord a fight to the death with Bill, and Tom had just wanted her to calm down, to feel better, to get off and relax. Tom hadn't even been in Empires then.

"That was just dirty talk," Tom says softly. "I wasn't actually _asking_ \--"

"You don't ask, Tommy," Mike says, just as softly. She curls her fingers into Tom, making Tom gasp. "I give you what I want you to have."

Which is entirely Mike's fantasy domme bullshit, because Tom asks for plenty -- asks, demands, begs, cajoles, insists -- but okay.

"You like me all full up with cock, huh?" Tom teases, following Mike's arm down to her hand, pushing in two fingers squished up with Mike's two fingers.

"My cock," Mike says. "Don't get used to the stunt dicks."

Tom laughs, turns her head for a kiss. "Your cock only, except on special occasions. Got it."

"I like that Sean kid," Mike says contemplatively. "I like how he worships you. Max, too." Tom blushes, glad it's dark so Mike can't see. "You're in the right band, Tommy."

"Yeah, I know," she says, and squeezes around Mike's fingers, pushing them deeper. "Fuck, Mike --"

"My good girl," says Mike, rolling over so Tom's under her. "My greedy, slutty girl. You need to come again?"

"I need it," gasps Tom, Mike's fingers so deep in her, exactly what had been missing earlier.

"Come on my fingers, then," says Mike, and starts fucking her in earnest, making the world drop away again.

  



End file.
